


A Tribute to the Dark

by Soroka



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst and Humor, Blood and Injury, Gen, Hurt Thor (Marvel), Hurt/Comfort, Other, Thor (Marvel) Feels, Tony Stark & Thor Friendship, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Worried Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 08:52:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17464370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soroka/pseuds/Soroka
Summary: It is said among Asgardians, ‘Go not to the Norns for answers, for you may not live to hear them.’The Water of Sight takes its toll on Thor. Tony is the first person on the team to learn exactly how much.





	A Tribute to the Dark

Thor’s sight is beginning to fail him.

Thick, black fog descends over his eyes, swift and relentless as an incoming storm. It takes him a few seconds to notice, since there wasn’t much light around him to begin with. What meager amount the polar night provides only shyly peeks into the narrow skylight nature has pried open beneath the highest peak of the Trollheimen Mountains. Its milk-blue glow only adds to the breathtaking beauty of the place, which Thor has little time to take in. After a while, all he can see is blurry shadows and reflections in the inky water that rises up to his waist.

That is how he knows the spirits have accepted him. Now all he has to do is survive their trial.

He sinks down to the rocky bottom of the lake, then slowly rises back to the surface. Melted snow scurries through the slopes above, tracing out scars in the ancient stone. It drips steadily over his bare shoulders, leaving goosebumps in its wake. It doesn’t take him long to become numb to its sting.

When the pain comes, it does so without warning. In less than a second, he is engulfed in paralyzing agony that sears his bone-marrow and sets his blood ablaze. Panic ripples through him, quickening his already manic heartbeat, before he pushes it aside. If the water spirits sense any weakness, they may get greedy enough to consume him without bothering to reward his suffering. All Asgardian scholars, who rarely saw eye to eye on anything, agreed that Norns craved the taste of fear most of all.

So he stands still amidst the freezing water, the air around him quivering with stray electricity. After what seems like an eternity, a foreign presence slithers into his mind and forces his eyes open. As its shapeless form settles in, he hears its voice, raspy and sharp.

_Think the lightning in your veins will shield you, God of Thunder? Think again!_

Cold fire scorches him from within as he feels his head snap up in the direction of his only companion. Through the coal-like mist clouding his vision, Selvig is little more than a silhouette, etched in a lighter shade of the same darkness that falls around him. The scientist stands on the shore, holding a recorder in an outstretched hand. His words sound muffled in the thin air, as if they were coming from behind a wall.

“How do we stop Ultron?”

Barking laughter erupts from Thor’s throat. He can feel himself mouth the word ‘sacrifice’ but the rest is lost in a choir of whispers that bypasses his ears entirely and arrives straight into his head. A forest of disembodied arms sprouts from the obsidian depths, grasping at him, threatening to pull him under. Faint pleas for help he cannot give come at him from every direction. Skeletal fingers claw at his legs beneath the water with the mad desperation of the drowning.

He gathers the last of his strength to wrestle them away. Debilitating pain tears into him just as they sink back into their well of torment. His own scream echoes against the walls of the cavern, followed by the Norn’s hollow cackle.

_Insolent fool! You dare deny us our tribute? We will tear your puny soul apart!_

“The stone in Loki’s Scepter! What is it?”

The spirit seethes at Selvig’s insistence, its blind anger feeding on what’s left of Thor’s adrenaline. The Norn in his body creeps closer to the shore, like a caged wolf snarling at a lone sheep, just to watch it squirm. His mouth spits words of disdain, leaving Thor gasping for air. The weight of the entire mountain seems to be crushing his ribcage, sending bright spots into an erratic dance before his eyes. His lungs struggle to draw in another rattling breath.

_Cease your pointless fight. Accept my brethren’s ultimate gift. Embrace oblivion._

The voice sounds almost beckoning now, soft and inviting as fresh-fallen snow. It purrs from beyond a black abyss that closes in ever faster. All feeling drains from him as an alarmed exclamation bounces off the cave walls. Thor barely catches the word ‘stop’ and a part of him enthusiastically agrees. Another one is strongly tempted to heed the call of the void.

Both of them are silenced when he closes his hand around a sharp pebble he has picked from the bottom of the lake. Warm blood coats his palm as the spirit recoils at pain it cannot control. The split second of hesitation is enough for Thor to wrestle back his voice.

“Not before you fulfill your end of the bargain,” he croaks. “Unless your power has waned and remains only in legend.”

He hears the Norn laugh again, condescension replaced by amusement. The unbearable pressure caving in Thor’s ribs lessens only slightly, allowing him another faltering breath. He licks salt and iron from his lips and prays he hasn’t overestimated his own endurance. He is completely sightless now and even the spirit’s weakened hold cannot return the light to his eyes. As he tries to call out for Selvig, his throat tightens up and the spirit’s mocking drawl returns.

_For a son of Asgard, you show the same lack of sense as your mortal companions. Do you wish to perish alongside them?_

The question catches Thor off-guard. Before he has a chance to answer, a clammy, webbed hand closes hard over his forehead. He stumbles in the icy water, back arched to the point of breaking. Melted snow streams over his eyelids as the veil of darkness rips itself apart.

_Behold the future, Odinson, and weep!_

The universe flows in, endlessly bright and just as overwhelming. It blooms into infinity, rushing past him as a mighty river of pure creation. He forces himself to focus on six orbs glowing at the edge of infinity, the only points that remain still in the chaotic birth of all things. Dread washes over him, cold as the lake locking in his limbs. He knows exactly what he is looking at, as well as the fate of the worlds that had the misfortune of coming across such power.

The fabric of space and time folds again. An explosion rocks the marble surface of Earth, silent against the indifferent stars. The horror doesn’t have time to sink in, as he finds himself staring into Ultron’s dispassionate eyes. Blood-red blinks into blue and before he can begin to wonder how, a dark vision of Valhalla flashes before him. Heimdall’s voice rings in his head, loud and commanding, as the universe itself.

_Wake up!_

He does, to the sound of someone calling his name through the frayed remains of the vision. He bolts upright, past the hands clasping at his shoulders in a vain attempt to keep him in place. It is only when he recognizes the warmth of life in them that he stops struggling.

“Slow down, it’s okay, it’s over.” The voice drifts closer as Selvig’s familiar shape coalesces in the crepuscular darkness. “What was that? What did you see?”

The answer comes as a hoarse whisper Thor barely recognizes as his own. “They don’t know.”

A frown falls over the man’s face, pale beneath angular shadows. “Who doesn’t know? What are you talking about?”

Thor rakes back ropes of soaked hair and draws in a tentative breath. The stale air of the cave leaves him hungry for more, but it is enough for light to trickle back into his vision. When he allows himself a deeper one, a metallic aftertaste settles on the roof of his mouth.

He shivers in the apprehensive silence and pulls himself back to his feet. “They don’t know what’s coming.”

* * *

If there was ever an art Midgardians excelled at, Thor thinks through a haze, it was the molding of sugar and caffeine into new life.

The drink is cold, as it makes its way down his throat, but it sets his worn-out mind alight in record time. He gulps it greedily, leaning on the hood of Selvig’s car, which has been a welcome support for the past few minutes. The tremor in his knees has mostly settled, but the scenery still swims around him as his eyes adjust to the perpetual twilight that falls around Norway during this time of year. He stares at the indigo clouds, wondering how long they have spent under what locals considered the ancient home of trolls. It had taken them a while to find the reflection of the Water of Sight and with its gifts still haunting his thoughts, time seems to be moving much faster.

He tugs at the knotted earbuds plugged into a miniature recorder and rewinds the tape inside. Before he can go through it a second time, the driver’s door slams shut, sending a tremor through the old car. Selvig steps out into the snow, pulls up his collar against the elements and sits on the hood beside Thor. Gloved hands fish out a pack of cigarettes and fumble with a lighter.

Thor side-eyes his efforts in disapproval. “You were supposed to give that up a year ago. There was a resolution. And at least three eyewitnesses.”

The man attempts a guilty smirk as he determinedly drags off a glove with his teeth. “I’m cutting back. That has to count for something.” He manages to produce a thin tongue of teal flame and grumbles when the wind extinguishes it. “Are you alright?”

Thor gives him a small nod. A tight belt of pain still burns around his ribs when he takes a deep breath, drinking in the fresh mountain air. “I’ll live,” he replies. “Thank you for your help. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

The scientist’s eyes do not hold back a reproach of their own. “You wouldn’t have done it with me either, but you only told me the whole plan when we were fifty feet under the mountain.” He peers down at the recorder resting on Thor’s knees. “Did we get something helpful at least?”

“We did more than that.” Thor pulls out the earbuds tangled in his hair and stands up. “I have to get back. The team needs to know what we’re dealing with.”

Selvig’s smile is a baffled one as he resumes his battle with the lighter. “At least someone will. I’m still in the dark and I’ve got the whole thing on tape.” He throws a concerned glance at him. “Are you sure you’re okay to fly across an ocean? What you’ve just gone through was intense. The world will not explode if you rest for a minute or ten.”

The image of the planet’s molten core bursting into the cold vacuum of space flickers across Thor’s mind. “I’ll be fine,” he replies hastily and turns the recorder over in his hands. “I thought nobody used these things anymore.”

“I like the classics.” Selvig sighs at the damp cigarette in his mouth, taps out another, then pushes it back when he catches Thor’s expression. “You should talk. Do you still have that relic of yours?”

Thor shrugs and points towards an old clamshell phone tucked into his leather belt. Miraculously, it has survived for nearly a year, even lasting through the assault on HYDRA’s Research Facility, when he forgot to take it out. Tony has been trying to convince him to upgrade for months, alleging that even Steve had given in to the marvels of the twenty-first century. None of his arguments have managed to beat the fact that the clamshell’s battery lasted a week while Tony’s could barely get through the day.

“Good, then you can call me when you get there.” Stern, silver eyes leave no room for discussion. “I’m serious, Thor. You look like the sort of thing my cat leaves on my pillow and Jane will flay me alive if she finds out I helped you with something this stupid. Have compassion for an old man.”

Thor lets out a reassuring smile. “Fair enough, you have my word.” He reaches into the backseat for Mjolnir and scans the sky, calculating the shortest route. “Do you know where she is now? She was supposed to fly to Colombia from Irkutsk but her schedule changes so much, I can never keep it straight.”

“She got to the OLA on Friday. Another astrophysicist had to give up their spot so she might take advantage and extend her stay until next week.” Selvig looks up from the bright screen in his hand with knowing commiseration. “She says she’s going to miss you."

Thor just gives him another quiet nod. He thinks of the three days circled in red on the calendar above Jane’s desk and realizes the trip they had planned together has just fallen through. The pang of disappointment soon gives way to a deeper sorrow, as his thoughts drift back to the constellation of six orbs burning ominously in the newborn universe. He had gone to the Norns for answers and they had given him more than he ever wanted to know. They had pointed to a door and now, for the good of everyone he held dear, he had no choice but to open it and see what was on the other side.

Loki’s snide remarks about Jane’s mortality burn in him with a terrible irony. In the end, the fleeting Midgardian lifespan will not be what does them in. They seem to have developed a habit of leaving each other behind.

His fingers close around the coarse leather woven across Mjolnir’s handle. The wind braids a rising vortex around him as he replies, “I’m going to miss her too.”

* * *

Tony could get used to this kind of silence.

He could get used to the scenery too and wonders if the hectic insomnia of New York City is taking its toll on him. On his fortieth birthday, Happy had joked that Tony was getting too old for superheroics, and at the time, he had been inclined to believe him. The idea of hanging up the mantle of Iron Man had been a constant presence for months, but HYDRA had not left him much chance to dwell on it. The Avengers’ fight against them took a darker turn when they found out the Scepter was still in their possession and as failed human experimentation sites started popping up on their radar, he started watching JARVIS’s surveillance maps with ongoing despair. There were days when he felt locked into a permanent war, with no end in sight and limited hope for victory.

The possibility had burned a little brighter when HYDRA’s main Research Facility was located. He had even briefly mused about picking a successor, until nightmares of a Chitauri fleet descending over Manhattan locked him on a different path. The world did not need another Iron Man. What it needed was a suit of armor around it.

He reaches a lone white oak in the middle of the field and realizes his wandering feet have taken him further than intended. The Barton Homestead is a dollhouse against the woods, leaking long shadows that flow into one another. Warm light burns in the kitchen window, telling him that the team is still gathered around the dinner table. They had gone over their plan of attack several times, before the conversation devolved and Tony found himself craving a few minutes of solitude. The aging evening sky tells him it has been considerably longer.

A loud thunderclap stops him in his tracks, as he starts heading back. He turns around in time to see a lightning-wrapped Thor land on one knee next to the wide trunk. Gusts of charged air ripple through the branches and sweep across the grass as he pulls himself upright. Tony rolls his eyes at the excess he can still never look away from. There’s a kind of scientific curiosity behind it, which he can only compare to the thrill of a meteorologist peering into the eye of the storm. He wonders if it happens to Bruce too.

“There you are! I was wondering when you were going to show up.” He looks towards the graying clouds, feeling the first drops of rain peck at his face. “So? Did you find what you were looking for?”

He pauses, realizing he might as well be talking to the tree. Thor stands very still under the quieting wind, staring at the farm in the distance as if it was a desert mirage. Mjolnir slips from his fingers and lands with a heavy thud among the thick oak roots.

“Or you can just ignore me, that works too.” Sarcasm soon deflates in Tony’s throat as he watches him stumble, like a puppet on failing strings. “Point Break? Is everything—?”

He sprints forward in the middle of his question when Thor’s knees give out after three steps. The closest Tony comes to breaking his fall is by crashing into him at full speed and wrapping him in a bear hug. He lasts on his feet for a whole of five seconds before he realizes he’s supporting a dead weight.

“Easy there! I’ve got you!” The statement is severely undercut when his spine screams in protest and he starts to sink to the ground. Thor slumps heavily against him, streaks of frozen hair spilling over clouded eyes. They give him a disoriented look, trying their hardest to maintain focus. After a few seconds, they give up the fight and roll back into his head.

“Hey, hey, stay with me!” Tony shakes a limp shoulder to no avail. “Thor? Can you hear me? Say something!”

He mouths a curse when he gets no reply and lowers the god of thunder on the grass as carefully as his strained muscles allow him. His stomach coils on itself as he presses his fingers to the wrist beneath the chainmail sleeve. It takes him nearly half a minute to finally grasp at a slow pulse. He doesn’t breathe easier until he finds it again on the base of the neck.

He looks back at the farm, pondering the chances of anyone seeing them from that far away. A quick search through the pockets of his coat only produces a pen and a crumpled dollar bill. Before Tony can begin bemoaning his rotten luck, he spots Bruce stepping out of the barn, where Nick Fury had set up his ambush. The man stops in his tracks when Tony scrambles to his feet to get his attention. As he begins to run towards them, Tony wonders if that was the only place he had found to be alone with his thoughts.

Bruce reaches them in seconds, worn tennis shoes skidding over the rain-soaked turf. “What the—?” he wheezes. “Is he okay? What’s wrong with him? Was it Ultron?”

Tony shakes his head at the breathless outpour. “I don’t know! He just made his usual dramatic entrance and faceplanted!” He aims a hopeful look at the scientist. “Tell me you’re smarter than me and brought your phone along.”

“I wish,” Bruce kneels down and cautiously turns an unresponsive blond head to the side. “Is that blood?”

Tony frowns, only now noticing the crimson specks clustered at the corners of Thor’s mouth. “Fresh one,” he replies in a grim tone. “Help me get him inside. He’s heavy enough without all the Asgardian garb.”

He slips a chainmail-clad arm around his shoulder and crouches to match Bruce’s height. Something cracks softly under his shoe when they move forward. Tony reaches into the tall grass and pulls out a thin tape recorder.

“That’s a blast from the past.” There’s a flash of curiosity in Bruce’s eyes as they meet Tony’s confused look. “I thought you couldn’t find these things anywhere anymore.”

Tony stares pensively at the cracked cover of the device. It has clearly seen better days, judging from the scratches that crisscross the gray plastic. The tape inside it seems to have survived the encounter with his foot unscathed but he resists the temptation to press play. Whatever is on it can wait five minutes until they all get somewhere warm. Not to mention until he can get some decent headphones.

“Classics are making a comeback, I guess,“ he says and presses on, panting for breath. “Damn it, where’s Steve when you need him?”

* * *

Despite the uncharacteristic peace and quiet around him, Tony can’t sleep.

The logs that have crackled in the massive fireplace since midnight are now embers, casting only a memory of brass-colored light. He draws his knees to his chest and shifts on an old mattress spread over the hardwood floor. Laura had probably noticed how thin it was since, in her infinite kindness, she had given him more blankets than he knew what to do with. He had ended up piling them all on Thor, watching him drift from unconsciousness into a deep, healing sleep on the only couch in the room. His actions had also unwittingly summoned the Bartons’ family cat, who has been curled up over the god of thunder for hours. Tony had been tempted to shoo him away until he remembered that cats were attracted to warmth. Considering the pale, lifeless frame he and Bruce had dragged through the door that evening, this could only be considered an improvement.

His positivity fades as he thumbs through a dog-eared block-note. The text that flows messily across the faded pages is his worst handwriting in a while. In the dusky glow, it is illegible even to him, but by now, he knows every word by heart. He had scribbled them hunched over the kitchen table, as if deciphering a particularly old psychophony. He didn’t even recognize a familiar voice behind the guttural croak until he donned Clint’s latest audiophile extravagance.

When the screams began, he found himself wishing he hadn’t.

He can still hear them when he closes his eyes, which is probably why sleep will not come to him no matter how hard he tries. He runs his fingers over the recorder and for a moment, wants nothing more than to chuck the tape over the fire’s last breath. He dismisses the urge, realizing they might have to go through it again, and dreads the thought. Five minutes into his transcription endeavor, he had stopped rewinding for clarity, not to subject himself to Thor’s wordless agony again. After ten, the pen became unsteady in his hand.

After twelve, when nothing but white noise filled his ears, he hid the tape in his jacket, away from the eyes of the children, and stepped into the creeping night to light his first cigarette in months.

He had come back to find Bruce and Natasha assembling a veritable army of pillows around an armorless Thor. The two of them sat close together, speaking in a hushed, intimate tone that almost made Tony feel like an intruder. They didn’t notice his company until his shadow fell upon them when he walked in front of the roaring flames. He pretended not to notice the awkwardness in their eyes as the distance between them suddenly grew a lot wider.

He reached into a warm pile of gelpacks strewn before the fireplace and handed one to a knelt-down Natasha. “Be careful with him. His lungs may be damaged.”

She nodded and pressed the soft, blue mass against Thor’s side. “I thought so. That’s why I grabbed the portable medscan from the Quinjet. It shows both extensive lacerations and very recent scarring.” For a second, tension melted away from her face as she allowed herself a small, incredulous smile. “He wasn’t kidding when he said Asgardians healed fast.”

Her levity brought little comfort as Tony rested his hand on the pale forehead under matted blond hair. The fact that it was still cold to the touch felt as unnatural as a blizzard on the surface of the sun.

"Not fast enough,” he replied and turned to Bruce. “Has he woken up at all?”

His answer was a long, defeated sigh and a headshake. “He won’t respond to any stimuli. Whatever did this to him left the engine running but turned the lights right off.” He peered into the medscan in his hands and Tony could practically count the questions piling up behind the brown eyes. “These readings make no sense. Half of his ribs are either cracked or broken. There’s blood pooling up all around his chest and yet, there’s absolutely no external bruising. It’s like something crushed him from the inside.”

The words managed to dispel the calming spell woven by nicotine. Unhelpful thoughts of demonic possession circled Tony, as he once again found himself questioning the thin line between a rational scientific explanation and anything mentioned in the same sentence as Asgard. The memory of the inhuman echo on the tape did little to dissuade his mind from teetering into absurdity.

“Something probably did.” He lowered himself next to the still form on the couch, looking for any movement behind the closed eyelids. “Come on, Point Break, give me a sign! I need to know you’re still in there.”

He leaned closer and patted a pale cheek, gently but firmly. Before he knew it, he was faced with Natasha’s disapproving eyes as she pointed to the heap of heated gelpacks he had jostled loose. When he reached down to pick them up, she let out a quiet groan.

“Stark, I will literally pay you to go away.” She pulled the medscan from Bruce and slid her finger over a green chart, steadily climbing up. “See this? That’s the progression of regenerated tissue tracked over the past half an hour. His body is basically taking care of itself. All we can really do is keep him warm and let him rest. Your presence is contributing to neither of those things.”

She threw a meaningful glance over her shoulder, as if begging for backup. It never arrived, as Bruce froze mid-sentence and turned sharply towards the fireplace. “Do you guys hear that?”

After a few seconds, they all did. Bruce and Natasha shared a confused look, as classical music floated from the clay bricks, reverberating in the chimney’s open throat. Tony watched the dull shock on their faces with the eerie comfort that he was not the only one whose sanity had taken a hit. The tinny melody lasted long enough for him to recognize it as the Moonlight Sonata, before they realized its true source, an old phone buried beneath Thor’s discarded armor.

* * *

It is the same armor Tony’s foot noisily crashes into when he stands up to stretch out the needles and pins crawling across his legs. The black cat spread peacefully over Thor throws its head up as it feels its source of comfort stir awake. It gives Tony an offended green glare and jumps off, melting with the shadows of the hallway.

Old springs let out a prolonged whine when Thor sits up slowly, as if moving through water. “Stark?” he mutters. “What happened? What time is it?”

Tony can’t help but laugh at the almost hungover tone. “Five in the morning, give or take,” He walks over to the couch and guides the dazed god of thunder back against the pillows. “Not so fast, Sparky! Do you even know where you are right now? How many fingers am I holding up?”

Thor glances in worn-out amusement at his half-splayed hand. “Three,” he says and looks around, brushing away long strands of hair. “Your room, I take it?”

A shrug follows Tony’s initial nod as he decides that one out of two isn’t bad. “More like the living room, it was the only spot in the house that had any space left. I was going to flip you for the couch, but then you collapsed and scared the crap out of everyone.” He turns over the dying embers and throws a new log on top of them. “How are you feeling? Better now?”

Thor nods, still in the process of disentangling himself from the blankets. It takes him about a minute to break free and swing bare feet to the floor. He lingers before the fireplace for a few moments, warm orange light dancing over loose Asgardian clothes. When he speaks again, his voice is a ripple over calm waters.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he says. “Something important.”

A vexing, hair-pulling feeling Tony has been riding out throughout the night, washes over him again, with a vengeance. “Yeah, you do!” he retorts. “What the hell were you thinking? At which point did letting some Eldritch Creature of the Black Lagoon feed on your soul seem like a good plan?” He cards a hand through his hair, barely containing the urge to shake Thor by the shoulders until his head comes off. “Do you have any idea how ironic it would be if you died before any of us?”

The rest of his loosely rehearsed tirade fizzles out when words stumble over one another in his crowded throat. His inner struggle flies entirely over Thor’s head. “You know about the Water of Sight?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘know’ as much as ‘took a few educated guesses.’” Tony reaches into his pocket and pulls out the busted recorder. “We got the cliffnotes from the tape, Selvig filled in the blanks. He was pretty pissed at you for not calling until Bruce explained you were out of commission.” He holds the device by the strap, like it is filled with poison. “I’d really appreciate an extended version, Point Break. It has to be a real nailbiter to be worth all this misery.”

* * *

About fifteen minutes later, Tony walks to the kitchen counter flanking the living room and pours himself a tall glass of water.

He drains it in three seconds, feeling warmth seep away from his body with every gulp. His brief indulgence in nicotine is beginning to take its toll and he craves it more than ever, now that his reality has become a tiny bit more Lovecraftian. He doesn’t even notice Thor standing next to him until he hears the sound of the pitcher being emptied in another glass. When their eyes meet again, he is silent and Tony can only muster a humorless laugh.

“Well, that was terrifyingly enlightening,” he says. “It does explain a lot, though. Like why that thing had the structure of a neural network. Or why it gave the Maximoff kid brainwashing powers.” He pulls up a rickety chair but feels too restless to sit down. “It also did a number on us on the helicarrier, now that I think about it.”

The full implications of his words take a second to catch up with him as he watches calloused fingers run absentmindedly across a dark lock braided into the blond mane. Before Tony can regret even hinting at a way out for Loki’s madness, Thor lets out a grim sigh. “It doesn’t brainwash you, Stark. It only gives new strength to our darkest voices. The choice to listen to them still falls to us.”

Somewhere in the back of Tony’s mind, a trap of his own making snaps. “We all have our priorities, I guess,” he says curtly. “What did it show you? I can’t imagine it was sunshine and puppies.”

A dark shadow crosses Thor’s face, one that usually follows stormy nights that left the city drenched and cold, no matter the season. As if on cue, a strong gust of wind howls in the chimney and the gentle whisper of rain becomes an insistent knock against the windowpanes. “I saw Asgard destroyed by my own hand,” he admits. “I’ve had that dream before, but never so vivid. It felt like a premonition. The kind my mother has—”

He trails off and looks away, like a child realizing he has misspoken. The stunted sorrow in his eyes only manages to pour fuel over the fire spreading across Tony’s thoughts. “Then you of all people should understand!” He pushes the chair away and paces briefly between the couch and the counter. “I saw each and every one of us dead! I acted. I’m not about to apologize for that!”

He doesn’t realize how much his words carry in the deep silence of the living room until the Bartons’ dog barks nervously outside. Thor doesn’t even flinch, staring impassively at the dimming coals. Silence trails behind him when he walks towards the fireplace to throw another log into its hungry mouth.

“Not for that, no,” he says in a slow, deliberate tone. “But you could have talked to me, to any of us, before rushing through this in three days. We could have worked on this together, maybe even enlisted Asgard’s help. Except you decided to cut everyone out and mess with something you don’t understand because you’re Tony Stark! It had to be your way or none!”

“I already got the talk from Fury, I don’t need another.” Thor doesn’t reply, almost daring him to continue so Tony does. “Call me paranoid but after what happened in New York, I’m not taking any chances. You said it yourself, something is moving out there! How much time do you think we have?”

“Long enough not to destroy ourselves first.”

Thor’s casual inclusion of himself into the realm of humanity does not go unnoticed. A bitter, fatalistic laugh coats Tony’s mouth as poison wells up in him, too strong to be held back. “We aren’t all gods, Point Break! Us mortals break a lot easier than your people. We can’t afford to sit around and debate while some cosmic horror takes potshots at us!”

“So you chose to stand alone before it?” Cold, blue fire burns in Thor’s eyes. “Do you think you are the only one who wishes to protect this world? Or the only one who can?”

Tony’s sarcasm snags on his lips, with nothing to follow it, but brutal honesty. “I think I’m the only one thinking ahead.”

Thor closes a hand over his face in a gesture that is beginning to look familiar. For a moment, it feels like he’s ready to lay into him again, but whatever comeback he is lining up seems too much of a burden to speak aloud. Eventually, Tony watches the stiff shoulders fall under the amber-tinted shadows. When Thor looks at him again, frustration leaves his voice, replaced by chiding.

“What purpose does it serve if your thoughts turn against you?” he asks and Tony’s mouth snaps shut under his sympathetic but unwavering look. “We all have darkness inside us, and it does not need the Mind Stone to eat us alive. I bore a burden of my own after I returned to Midgard, but I had your ear, so I did not bear it for long. What made you think I would not have returned the favor?” He pauses and shakes his head at the lengthening silence. “Do not fear your friends’ council, Stark. And do not dismiss us so lightly. We are not dead yet.”

He cuts himself off when the dog barks outside again. Tony tries and fails to hold back a subtle smile. After two years on Earth, Thor’s Tolkien talk still comes back every once in a while, serving as a flawless indicator of sincerity. He struggles to put together an answer but gives up after a few drafts. A stubborn part of him has always hated to admit when someone else was right, and if it was ever going to change, it was not today.

“No, we’re not,” he says. “But given the mess we’re in, that’s kind of a low bar.”

Thor’s mouth tugs as he stirs the blackened logs before him. “It isn’t. It means our fight isn’t over. And it means you still have a chance to fix your mistakes.”

“I’ll take that. We’re critically in need of optimism right now.” Tony cracks his stress-stiff neck and walks over to the fireplace, stretching his hands over the flames. “Did that vision of yours happen to say how?”

Blue eyes drift away from him, dim in recollection. After a few moments, Tony’s questioning look is met by a firm hand on his shoulder, that pushes him slightly off balance. “It didn’t need to,” he says. “You’re Tony Stark.”

The temptation to try and get the words on tape briefly crosses Tony’s mind, before he decides not to push his luck. In the end, he can only manage a suffering smile at how apparent their height difference becomes when they stand that close to each other. Nevertheless, he reaches up and clasps the linen-clad arm around him.

“So I keep hearing,” he chuckles. “Let’s hope that’s still worth something.”

He brushes stray soot off his clothes and steps into the kitchen, bare feet moving gingerly over cold tiles. A few minutes later, he returns, balancing a steaming bowl in his hands. Garlic and black pepper waft into the air and mix with the bitter smell of charred wood.

“Irish rabbit stew,” he explains as he sticks a spoon into the thick sauce. “Clint claims it cures the living dead, but I’d like to see the science on that.” He pushes the bowl into Thor’s hands. “Eat, get your strength back. We’re going to need it tomorrow.”

Thor gives him a grateful nod. Blue eyes glow in pure satisfaction as he takes the first bite, then peer at him closely in the firelight. “What happens tomorrow?”

Tony glances at the power armor in the corner, standing guard over the rest of their gear. Hopeful determination finds its way into his voice against the lingering drone of anxiety. “We find Junior and kick his ass. What else?”

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the lovely isabelvillena whose creativity for Thor Hurt/Comfort rivals my unbridled enthusiasm to feed the Ironthunder BROTP tag. May this partnership live long and prosper.
> 
> If you liked it, author says put a review on it. They warm her heart. A lot.


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